


Change of Perspective II

by DarkShadeless



Series: SWTOR - collection [13]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: ... a bit of angst snuck in after all, 100 percent more crack, :D, Bodyswap, Don't ask me how, Gen, Kinda, M/M, Shenanigans, XD, because I was already at it i guess, but also more fun!, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 03:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19433311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: Prompt: 'Overseer Sar and Raan switch places, Yon sets out to prank everyone in his body, deciding not to miss this ecstatic opportunity. Especially Hagrev. Raan is horrified, following Sar around and trying to do damage control'It didn't turn outquitethat way but... have fun.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BenArchive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenArchive/gifts).



> There is a shameless quote from The Adventure Zone in here. Just for you Vad ;)

Now, Sar has had a few very spaced out dreams in his time. Even did a vision quest or two.

So… when he wakes up in a fur-suit his first thought is ‘What the kriff.’

Whatever the Force is trying to tell him is more convoluted than usual and that’s saying something.

‘You have a deep desire to grow a tail?’

‘One of your ancestors was a chipmunk?’

‘Claws are useful and you should get some?’

Weird.

And then he sees his face in the mirror and realizes it might be something more down to earth, like ‘Your ambition knows no bounds and you are stifling it’ or some shit. Well, the Force can kiss his ass, he has _work_ in the morning.

… no reason not to have some fun with this though.

* * *

Raan wakes up in a bed that’s not his, with aches and pains and sleeping limbs. But it’s warm, he feels _safe_ and _happy_. By the time he realizes that contentment is bleeding into his mind from elsewhere he has blinked his eyes open and doesn’t have the time to freak out over the first bit.

He doesn’t. Because he is, very suddenly, freaking out about something else entirely and there is _no space left in his brain_ to wonder where his tail has gone.

He’s in bed with _Theron_. He’s in _bed_ with **_Theron_**. And Theron is **_naked_**.

Probably naked. The cheerful blanket with the bird pattern saves Raan from finding that out for sure but it has slid low enough on his advisor's hips that it leaves little to imagination. He jerks his eyes back up, face burning.

What _happened_ last night? He wouldn’t- he didn’t- _Please tell me I didn’t-_

The sleepy contentment pushing against his flimsy shields shifts toward wakefulness. If anything that amplifies the warmth of it. Before Theron is fully conscious he’s leaning into him, throwing an arm over Raan’s hip to pull him closer with a grumble.

_Oh shit. Ohshitohshiohshit-_

Raan stiffens reflexively (in all the ways that matter, _oh Force_ ). That finally seems to clue his master spy in on the fact that something is off. Theron’s brow furrows, his hair a mess and pillow creases on his cheek. Gods he has never looked so good. Raan hasn’t even entertained that _thought_ until now. And he still isn’t! He isn’t!

“Love? You okay?”

* * *

“… and everybody and I do mean everybody, gets to wear exactly one piece of flair on Benduday.”

Admiral Aygo is clutching his datapad a little desperately. Sar is having a rancor of a time keeping a straight face but it’s worth it. Soooo worth it.

“Flair, Commander?”

“Yes. Flair. Some colourful bantha shi- something colourful. _Sparkly_. Write that down.”

* * *

Between desperately wiggling out of Theron’s embrace and breakfast, Raan has cottoned on to what is happening. Somewhat. The ‘how’ and ‘why’ are still elusive. But…

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright, hon’?”

“Oh yes! I’m good!”

His smile feels plastic. He doesn’t have enough _teeth_. He- he- he looks like overseer Sar of the Force division. Theron’s _lover_.

Raan woke up in his bed, with Theron cuddling up to him and kissing his forehead and-

Uhm. If this felt less real maybe he could have enjoyed that part. That part was kind of nice.

Only he’s an _imposter_ and Theron _has no idea_ and this might or might not be an elaborate Force vision and- and Raan might be freaking out a bit after all. Just a little.

Theron is starting to catch on too. He keeps shooting him looks. If he starts asking questions, questions Raan doesn’t know the answer to, things are going to get complicated real quick.

* * *

“A- a tree?”

“Yes. A tree. Is there soil under this floor? And it will need sunlight. We’ll have to cut a hole to the surface.”

The good admiral has escaped his clutches with his lists and left the quartermaster to Sar’s tender mercies. The poor man looks like he would wring his hat between his hands, if he had one. “The surface, mah lord?”

“Well, of course. Trees need fresh air.”

While the quartermaster’s purple skin turns another shade ever closer to lavender, Sana-Rae nods along with what her Commander is saying. “Of course. I am very happy you have come to appreciate nature, Commander. It will give you much joy.”

Oh, kriff it. Go big or go home.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Actually, don’t you think this whole base is kind of dreary? So grey. Thoughts?”

* * *

Raan manages to fumble his way out of Theron’s careful and increasingly worried prodding right up until they’re ready for work. He tries to put his friend’s mind at ease and he knows he’s failing but he can’t bring himself to tell him- He doesn’t even know what is going on here.

He’ll figure that out and then- then he’ll… tell someone.

At least that’s the plan.

That’s the plan right up until Raan turns around, waving away Theron’s offer to stay in, ‘just the two of them, we could make it a slow day’ and comes face to chest with Somminick Timmns.

The Jedi Master is frowning down at him, worry lurking in the wings. “Hey there. Everything alright? You’re late for-“

Their eyes meet. Raan smiles, helplessly, unsure what exactly he could be late for at eight in the morning.

Timmns expression of mild concern freezes and _shatters_ into rage. His eyes bleed yellow while Raan is still trying to figure out what is going on, less than a heartbeat, not even enough time to take a _breath_.

Under Theron’s alarmed shout he has him shoved against the wall, hand fisted in his shirt before he can blink. _W-what?_ “Timmns?”

“Don’t ‘Timmns’ me.” Master Timmns poison yellow eyes bore into Raan’s with all the mercy of a blooded slice hound. “Who the kriff are you and what have you done to Sar?”


	2. Chapter 2

Timmns hold on him is like a vice. Raan has to stand on his tiptoes just to avoid getting choked. 

_Oh Force. Think. Thinkthinkthink._

"This… this isn't what it looks like, I swear."

Not the right thing to say. Timmns' lips twist into a snarl that would do a Sith proud. When the fuck did one of his Jedi masters go this far off the deep end? Raan keeps tabs on his troops. He does. He knew some of the Force users are struggling, Timmns among them, but this _far past_ struggle.

Thankfully before he can put his foot further into his mouth or Timmns can _strangle him_ their standoff is interrupted.

"Theron, I need you in the command center now- What in the name of the Force is going on here?"

_Lana._

A more welcome sight Raan has never seen, especially in the face of Theron, of to the side, rapidly cycling from confusion to shock to resolve, heartbreak hiding underneath, and his hand inches from his blaster.

If Raan didn’t know him so well he wouldn’t hear the faint tremble in his voice. "We've been infiltrated." There is none of the softness left that Raan woke up to. That's… it hurts, even though he knew it wasn’t _for_ him. There’s something wonderful about someone treating you like that. As if they love you.

"Infiltrated?" Lana surveys the scene with the seasoned ruthlessness of a Sith commander. “Whatever happened, put it on the backburner. Theron, the Commander is acting strangely. I need you to deal with that _now_."

An expression chases over Theron’s face Raan never wants to see again. For a fraction of a second he is a man who is watching the most important person in his life slipping through his fingers, presented with the need to turn his back and do his duty and that man knows exactly what choice he is about to make.

The moment breaks and Theron look away. “Strange? Strange how?”

Wait a damned second. _If I am here, **who is in my body**?_

Most of those possibilities _do not_ bear thinking about. Oh gods. Maybe Valkorion wasn’t really gone. Maybe he _kicked Raan out of his body_. Maybe he landed in Sar’s and _killed him_ and now he has to live with-

That’s about as far as Raan’s runaway train of thought gets before he registers what Lana is saying.

“- and then he demanded we link promotions to how much effort people put into hand-crafting their flair! It’s nonsensical!”

… _what_.

“What is a flair?”

Raan only realizes he has said that aloud when both his advisors turn to look at him. Lana is wearing that impatient frown she gets when she is one wrong step away from punching an idiot and that idiot is you. Oh dear.

“A personalized attachment to armor the likes you would make at a military academ- why am I explaining this to you! Nevermind that! Theron, I need you to get to the bottom of this post-haste. He’s avoiding me and I can’t pin him down without causing a panic.“

What is even going on here? Raan has no idea and that’s _him_ they’re talking about. He glances at Timmns, trying to calculate his chances of making a quick getaway. Timmns looks down on him, silently conveying something Raan mentally translates to ‘try me, motherkriffer’.

Without loosening his hold even a little he asks, perfectly even, as if he isn’t _inches away from putting Raan through the wall_ , “Where is he now?”

The look Lana gives him could have peeled ship hull sealant off plating. “The mess hall, not that it’s any of your business. Stuffing himself with pudding. If this is all part of some elaborate prank I swear, I will-“

For some reason the jagged edges Timmn’s aura has fractured into start to smooth somewhat. “Purple pudding?”

* * *

This dream is _fantastic_. Ten of ten, would dream again. Sar has rarely had this much fun while sleeping. He’s probably walking all over the Force’s intentions in sending him a weird-ass vision but who cares. Not him.

Even the totally-not-blood-pudding tastes like the real thing.

… maybe that should have been a clue. But he just feels so _great_ , like he’s a happy little solar battery out in the desert of Tatooine, soaking up sun. (That, actually, should’ve been a clue too.)

As it is, his first inkling that something about this might be off comes three seconds before Timmns bursts through the cantina doors in full murder-stride. His sixth sense has Sar pausing with his spoon in his mouth, his freaky cat-ears falling flat against his skull. It almost feels like he is in trouble with Sommini-

 _Kriff_.

Of course. Of course that meddlesome bastard would ruin his perfectly good dream. He _hates fun_. (That claim is not, objectively, true. Timmns just hates _Sar’s_ kind of fun. It’s like he has never met an asshole he wanted to kill for the heck of it.)

Sar isn’t even surprised when Timmns makes a beeline straight for his table. That’s dream-logic for you. Even if this is a Force vision, those tend to work on the same kind of backasswards bantha shit.

Sullenly Sar finishes his spoonful of pudding. Looks like happy-battery dream-time is over. “What?”

As usual, Timmns doesn't bother answering that kind of inquiry. They have a stare down for a few seconds, before Sar’s weird, too sensitive eyes force him to blink. _Damn it._

Timmns' inscrutable expression twitches. “Really? You end up in the body of a man you claim to hate and first thing you- you prank his command staff and… what are you doing now? Eating blood pudding until you get sick? Is that what this is, that’s your plan?”

There’s really no reason for him to sound so judgemental about it. This is _Sar’s_ dream. He can do whatever he likes.

Sar glances over the damning assembly of empty pudding bowls. “Maybe.”

His coworker’s presence in the Force twists through a dizzying contortion of _exasperation_ and _relief_ Sar can’t quite parse and doesn’t really want to. The Force sure has Timmns pegged, right down to the way his lips go thin when he tries not to smile at something he feels he should not be smiling about.

Actually, Somminick looks uncomfortably close to tearing up. Even the Force wouldn’t do this to him, would it?

Sar takes in this replica of his best friend, on the physical plane and beyond and… well. He puts his spoon down with a sigh. “This isn’t a dream, is it?”

At this point he doesn’t really need Timmns’ huff of slightly hysterical laughter for confirmation.

_… ugh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to allude to it but no, it's no more normal for Raan to jump to the very worst conclusions and from emotion to emotion than it is for Sar to be so mellow and happy. Funny that, huh?  
>   
> Yes. Both Yon and Vette love pudding. When she is his companion he passes on his love to her XD  
> It’s the only food he can reliable produce that isn’t charred meat/plant/ _something probably not poisonous_ on a stick.  
> (Quinn is endlessly exasperated with the both of them and completely convinced they will die of scurvy. Joke's on him, Yon can makes perfectly fine fruit pudding.)


End file.
